Jailbreak
by AmazinglyMediocre
Summary: After running away, Chilled discovers that the grass isn't always greener on the other side. Sister story to Hollow Moon.


Adam wasn't waking up, Max was saying.

"Adam, come on. You looked at me and now you're going back to sleep?" He's always so demanding. Let Nanners sleep, man. Let him go to the great land in the sky if he wants. But Max takes offense to others messing with what's his, so Marcel and Sark could deal with him.

I brought the other two into 804 and let the three of them squabble. There was nothing to do for Adam, yet they argued. I left Max's room and returned to my own. The clock read 8:23 A.M., January 16. I had places to be that weren't here, now that Montoya was a vegetable.

My stuff was easy enough to pack. Sweatshirts, snow pants, extra boots, thermal everything, three knives, and a stash of food all fit nicely into my hiking pack. I hid the bag when Marcel, Sark, and Max started to bustle out of the room next door.

"We're having a meeting," Marcel stepped into my room. "You coming?" He glanced around at the blank walls and bare surfaces.

"No," I pointed at the clock. He knew.

He paused, then shook his head. I knew. He would catch up. "I'll cover," he replied. Cover meant play dumb. "Mercy with you," he finally said. Our thing. Then he left, his feet scuffing. He never intrudes on anyone's turf if he doesn't have to. The perfect peacemaker with a low temper and controlled mouth.

I picked up my bag and waited for the shouting to begin. And, as always, Evan's voice clashed with Tyler's and rang out down the hallway. "And what if he wakes up and we're all dead?" Fong shouted.

I paused outside of 801 and listened. The yelling was escalating. Sometimes, listening is just as detailed as watching. I'm saying it now: Han Solo shot first. Fists were flying and Sark was hollering, "Break it up! Break it up!" And scuffing feet were coming for the door. Then someone's breath left his chest and those feet stopped just short of their destination and silence fell as a body did too.

"Mercy," I whispered. Just my thing now. I hope Marcel heard me.

I skidded down the stairs, desperately trying to keep my feet silent. More feet were following, I realized. I ducked under the railing and jumped down a floor and slipped into 301. Two sets of feet thundered past and down the stairs. I waited and counted the seconds and was nearly out the door when Max passed the apartment. He didn't see a thing. His tall form disappeared up the stairs.

I took the last stairs slowly, listening for anyone who could be a threat. And then I was free. I turned right onto Bonham Avenue and made my escape.

Maybe now this nightmare would be less nightmarish.

My knowledge of the streets didn't fail me. I passed by the usual decrepit buildings, kicked the same rock as always, slid over the hood of the same wrecked Camry. A fallen lightpole watched me go by, a halo of shattered glass surrounding its head. The South end of Bonham Avenue stretched out in front of me, gray and colorless in the cloudy morning light. A McDonald's sat on the corner facing East, a BP facing West. I followed the Golden Arches and turned left.

Another identically ugly and broken street stared me in the face. I kept on, skipping over every crack in the pavement that I could. I didn't want to break my father's back. If he was still living, that is.

My feet led me in the right direction. My route led me on a senseless wander. Left at the Aldi's? Sure. Straight at the SAM's? Nah. The streets became more and more inhabited as I went. Smashed cars with rusting paint and torn upholstery made a maze out of the straight roads. Zombies growled nearby, though they didn't strike. They were probably trapped, still seatbelted into their broken cars.

I gave up on navigating the asphalt and instead walked on car tops. Metal squeaked and wobbled underneath me with each footstep. Much slower, but also much less dangerous and tiring. The pipe I had picked off of the street was warm from my grip and frigid everywhere else.

I wished to have Marcel for a travelling companion. But fate dictated otherwise. Instead he was free and I wasn't. I wished for a lot of things.

Adam was bad news to deliver, top. He was supposed to come with me, whether he knew it or not. His fate also told me otherwise. Maybe someday I'd see him again. Hopefully not in New York City.

My stomach rumbled emptily when the sun finally burned through the clouds. Noon. I sat down on top of an F-150 and ate. I had covered several miles by then, but I still had a lot more to go in my directionless walk.

I tossed the granola bar wrapper in a miraculously upright trashcan. The farther I went, the smaller my mental map of the streets became. My spider's web of land surrounding the apartments shrunk into a single strand of silk. At the end of that strand was my destination. If it's possible to have a destination at the end of a ramble.

I stopped on top of a Honda when I noticed my following. My pipe found the inside of a zombie's skull while an angry hand latched onto my ankle. I stomped it off and growled at the zombies. They couldn't reason or think, but they understood bared teeth and raised hackles.

Their hesitation was enough. I dispatched the four of them and continued on my way. At least it was a zombie following and not a human following. My wandering had continued for long enough. Now I could pursue and not worry about others knowing my whereabouts.

I broke into a jog once I reached an open stretch of sidewalk. The faster I could go, the faster I could make it. All I had to worry about was the existence of my destination.

My feet slapped the concrete, the sound echoing off of the buildings that rose into the sky around me. It wouldn't be long before the buildings blocked out the clear sunshine. That was okay with me. Closer, closer, closer.

And, inevitably, the shade swallowed the sun. I ran through the deep shadows of winter and I smelled the chill in the air. I kept moving. Blocks ticked by and then I passed it.

"Anthony?" The voice came from above me. I almost didn't stop. A shattered third story window revealed a conference room. In that conference room was a very cold Shawn. His nose ring still glittered dimly. "It is you!" He turned and disappeared into the building. I waited.

"Where's Marcel?" He emerged soon after, Mark and Jordan in tow. "And Brock? Did you bring Marcel?"

Mark shushed him and wrapped me in a tight hug. "It's good to see you," he was as skinny as ever. Jordan had a look on his face that I couldn't decipher or put context to. Mad? Annoyed? Frustrated? Upset? Anxious. He was anxious.

"Adam and Marcel won't be here," I watched their faces fall, then brighten again when they remembered Brock. "Brock won't be, either. They're all three dead or dying," Mark nodded and exchanged a look with Shawn.

"It happens," Jordan glanced around the street. A few zombies had appeared, attracted to all the human happenings. Yeah, it happens.

"We can discuss later," Mark noticed too. We all walked into the old administration building and up some stairs and into a different conference room. So many stairs in the apocalypse.

The room had beige walls with nasty stains and ugly still life paintings decorating the walls. Various weapons, clothes, and food items were strewn across the massive oak table and dreary, broken buildings peered in through the window. The food was sparse, I immediately noticed.

We passed right through the room and into an office suite on the other side. More paintings of fruit and hunting dogs hung limp from the walls. A copier sat dead along one wall and cubicles made a labrynth out of the room. Ceiling tiles and lights dangled from the ceiling or lay on the floor.

"Welcome to the most inhabited admin building in New York City!" Mark raised his arms to indicate the grandeur I was beholding. A crappy fourth floor office at the bottom of a skyscraper. No electricity or warmth in sight. Shawn pulled his scarf on tighter.

"What fun," I slung my backpack onto the floor next to the reception desk.

"Yeah. The others are around somewhere, probably searching for food. They'll be back soon enough." Mark seemed to be the leader here. Much better than Evan.

"Tell us what happened," Jordan had seated himself behind the reception desk. I shrugged.

"Brock died a while back. Like, very soon after the fall." I shut my mind to the emotions that came with that memory. "Delirious murdered him." I had kept my mouth shut to avoid getting myself killed. "Marcel probably met the same fate. He was trying to get out of the meeting room and he was attacked. I guess Adam has a sliver of hope. He was comatose when I left."

Mark nodded, "I remember Brock. Brian and I got the hell out of there after that happened." Jordan was shaking his head and Shawn was picking at the threads on a wall rug.

"Who's left?" Jordan finally asked. His voice sounded tight. He and Adam had been tight.

"Evan, Jonathan, Tyler, Craig, Sark, and Max."

"God," he sighed. "Starvation getting to you? Cold?"

"No, each other. And illness. And zombies. Even if Adam does wake up, he was mauled by a zombie yesterday."

"Great," Shawn stepped away from the wall. "Well, with that good news to think on, I'll show you where you can sleep tonight." He led me away from Mark and Jordan and to a small side office. It was nice enough, with a mattress from who-knows-where sitting in the middle of it.

I settled myself in, taking note of all the blankets piled on the mattress. Why did NYC have to be so cold? I explored the building a bit after that. Office after office after office, some empty, some ransacked, some untouched. I climbed up a couple of flights, ignoring my stomach growling. The higher I went the more I could see in the area. Just down the street was the original convention building. I finally went high enough to see the sun starting to set. Reds and purples painted the sky, highlighting clouds on the horizon. Low, gray clouds. Snow clouds. Bad news. I watched the sun set.

"You find anything interesting?" Jordan was waiting for me in the supply conference room. He was sorting through the food we had on the table, which now included my meager stash. There was nowhere near enough food to last anyone long. I noticed for the first time how his cheekbones showed more than before. Sharp collarbones peeked out of his collar.

"Shawn's probably watching," he murmured. Watching from the conference room below us.

"What's going on?" I sat down across from him. He pushed one last protein bar into a pile. "Who's still with you?"

"Brian, Steven, and Cathy will be back soon," he ran a hand through his dark hair. Steven. "They've been spending most of their days out scavenging," like Adam, "because, as you can see, we're low on food. Really low." We had a week, tops. Seven people couldn't live on what we had. Our collection of protein bars, canned fruit, a few ramen packets, and couple of MRE's would last only if we rationed.

"Any idea what to do when we run out?" My stomach growled loudly.

"Leave, I guess," he shrugged. "That, or simply starve to death." His eyes were sunken in and tired. Perhaps Mark wasn't the true leader.

"They're back!" Shawn shouted up the stairs. Jordan sighed and pushed himself away from the food.

"We'll make it," he mumbled.

I couldn't have been prepared for the attack that was Cathy and Steven. Both were all over me, Steven kissing my face and Cathy just holding on for dear life. Brian waited for them to get off of me before hugging me for a moment.

"Is Adam here?" Cath looked around hopefully.

"No, he isn't," Mark looked at his feet. "He got sick."

Her face fell just like the others' had. We quietly had our dinner of tiny portions and then retreated to our "bedrooms." There isn't much to talk about in the apocalypse.

"How was Adam when you left?" Cathy appeared in my doorway later that night. She sat down cross legged on the floor next to my bed.

"He was pretty comatose," I felt like my old self was coming back. I could talk easier. "And beat up from an incident with a zombie. But he has Max and Sark taking care of him," I tried to reassure her. I didn't have the heart to tell her just how involved Adam was with Gonzalez, though.

"Oh," she fiddled with her fingernails. "Did he still have his spirit, though?"

"Yeah, as much as one can keep himself in this world," I looked at the ceiling. "He was always laughing, just like he used to. I was going to bring him soon," I admitted, "because things were getting bad. But I guess that didn't work out anyways."

She looked at me carefully. "Do you think he'll live?"

"You never know," I wasn't lying.

"I guess so," she stood after a moment. "I'll let you sleep. I'm glad to have you back," she smiled. I went straight to sleep.

And I woke up to my nose feeling as if it was made of ice. It still wasn't light out, but it was cold. I missed Max and his daring late-night heater runs. But I had new people now. Silence reigned as I peeked out of my bedroom. It was almost pitch-black in the office area. I could see Mark and Jordan sillhouetted against the gray backdrop of the buildings across the street. Their voices didn't reach me, but they were discussing something. I should have waited, should have brought more food, should have done something else. I should have thought of what could be waiting on me. Starvation hadn't even crossed my mind after living large on our massive amounts of food back in the apartments. Now my stomach was tighter than it had been in months.

I saw by the set of his jaw that Jordan was worrying again. Mark was fiddling with one of the buttons on his coat. Well, when was Jordan ever not worrying? I crept across the walkway and crouched in a cubicle. I still couldn't hear, but from the cubicle I was harder to see. I zigzagged my way towards them like that, stepping into an office and then into a cubicle. The second to last office was occupied, however, and I narrowly avoided stepping on Shawn's outstretched hand. He was out, his mouth open and snores coming from his throat. Despite all of his blankets and all of the cold, he still sprawled across his bed and the floor.

"We can't keep going like this," Jordan was saying, "we'll be out of food by the end of the week."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Mark wasn't mad like Evan would have been. He wasn't defensive like Tyler was. Maybe this group didn't need a leader.

"We leave? We find somewhere else to live. We find a better area with more homes nearby and we scavenge," Maron lowered his voice even more, "or we have to make the group smaller."

"We can't do that," Mark sighed, "it isn't right."

"Nothing is right, stupid," Jordan's tone was light.

I peered around the corner. He was shaking his head. "No, nothing's right," he mumbled, "but I can't leave someone to die."

Jordan grunted a response. I crisscrossed my way back to my office and laid down. I didn't sleep any more.

Morning eventually came and we organized a scavenging party. A desperate one, at that. Me, Shawn, Brian, and Mark were going to reach farther than they ever had before. So, armed with pipes and bats and a single Ruger pistol, we left the building. White clouds hung overhead, but nothing came out of them. The hammer was just waiting to fall.

We walked several miles to a neighborhood and began to search. Everything came up empty. Already ransacked. Whether it was Adam's work or someone else's, all the goodies were gone.

"You think there's any food left in the world?" Brian asked as we sat down around a dining table to rest. No lunch today.

"Yeah, I know there's food left." I patted my backpack. It held dinner, which consisted of one can of peaches for the four of us.

"Any food we don't have?" He shot me a look. Shawn snickered.

"Yeah, and it belongs to Tyler and everyone else."

"Any food we can have," Brian snapped. Both Shawn and Mark were giggling.

"Who knows," I sat back in my chair. Terroriser slapped a hand on the table and stared at the ceiling, mouthing the numbers one to ten.

"Maybe there's people nearby who could help us," Shawn sounded hopeful.

"You think they'll give us some of their food so they can starve and we can starve later than they do?" Mark laughed at him.

Despite the easiness of the conversation, we all knew there wasn't much time left.

And despite the easiness of the day so far, it couldn't last.

We wandered into our sixteenth house of the day and started the usual search: listen, then open. Shawn opened a basement door and frowned down into the black.

"You think there's anything down there?" He whispered. We all shrugged. He stepped down one step, freezing when it creaked.

"Come on, man, this is an empty house, not your parents' house you're trying to sneak back into," Brian grumbled. He started down the steps right behind Ritz, who cursed under his breath.

"Careful, you don't know what's down there," Mark cautioned. We hung back while the others crept farther down.

"That's why I have this," Brian turned on his flashlight and shone it directly into the face of a zombie. Shawn screamed and tried to jump back, but he was stuck on the stairs. His foot slipped and he smacked his face on a higher step. Brian drew the Ruger out of his pocket and tried to take aim, but the zombie snatched at his hands. Two more of the undead were pulling at Shawn's feet, desperate to get their teeth into his skin. Mark and I both stormed down the few steps and began to swing as gunshots rang out from the Ruger. Brian was yelling now and Ritz was silent. He started to slide down the steps and I grabbed his hand and tried to haul him back up. He was so limp.

"Get out!" Terroriser waved his hand back at us. Blood was running down into his sleeve. Teeth marks made a half moon on his hand. He took proper aim this time and took out one of the zombies. Mark scuttled back up the stairs, but I stayed. I beat one of the zombies in my reach into submission, but there was only so much to be done.

Rtiz was waking up now, his hands grabbing for anything they could reach. A guttural cry ripped out of his throat and I released his hand. Goner. I kicked him back down the steps when he sat up. Brian glanced at me, glanced at Shawn's hungry eyes glittering in the light streaming down the stairs, then fired. Two more shots blasted out and then the gun just clicked. Ritz was on the floor, his nose ring shining red in the pale light.

"You're okay, you're okay," I drew my knife and snatched at Brian's hand. His eyes followed what I was doing and he reared back.

"No, don't," he backed down the stairs and stepped into the little pile of bodies on the floor. "It's been too long," he changed the clips in the pistol and took a long, shuddering breath. "I can do this myself," he turned away from my outstretched hand and put the barrel under his chin. I climbed the steps and shut the door behind me. One last gunshot.

Mark and I went home empty of hand and empty of heart.


End file.
